


Sugar, Yes Please

by FabulousPotatoSister



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Not At All Accurate Depictions of Owning a Cafe, Not Beta Read, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23960653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulousPotatoSister/pseuds/FabulousPotatoSister
Summary: You first meet the Doctor standing in your kitchen, opening jars of sugar.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor & Reader, Tenth Doctor & Reader, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Reader, Thirteenth Doctor & Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 94





	Sugar, Yes Please

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by [this](https://drink-it-write-it.tumblr.com/post/189313705262) prompt by[@drink-it-write-it](https://drink-it-write-it.com) on tumblr! Originally I was going to follow this prompt to the letter, and then it went in a different direction, but that is definitely still where I got the inspiration from. 
> 
> Enjoy the fic!

The café, for all intents and purposes, was your home.

With its old polished wood floors and pastel blue walls, it was probably someone’s aesthetic dream. You could look back fondly on the long hours you spent wiping down counters and delivering coffee to the college students that frequented the place. Every round table held a wealth of memories – if you looked between the cracks in the wood, you’d find conversations, sweet words exchanged over a pastry or bitter stares over glasses of cold iced tea, each time a microcosm of human interaction. Whole lives had been lived in the Heaven Café – people came and people went, each time leaving the place a little different.

After the original owner – a lady who wore predominantly pink frocks and frilly aprons and was very young at heart – moved out of the café after she got married, she gave you the keys to the second floor of the building.

They used to call her “Miss Baker”, and insisted the nickname be passed to you when you got put in charge.

The second floor was a nice apartment with a pretty balcony and big windows that let in a lot of sunlight and/or moonlight. It was strange for the first few nights, sleeping in a bed clearly made for two, but after a few weeks, it was second nature to fall into the cozy patchwork sheets after a long day.

The Heaven Café was your home. And wouldn’t you be mad if someone broke into your home?

The moon was high in the sky that night, and its light spilled into your bedroom, illuminating all the corners of the room and bathing everything in a silver light. There was nothing but the sound of passing cars and crickets. It looked like a good night to watch the stars and fall asleep looking out the window – until you heard a strange noise from outside the window.

You sat up. It was a wheezing, groaning noise, that faded in and out, growing to a crescendo until it finally disappeared. The building was an old one. You were no stranger to strange noises in the night, it came with the territory. But that was something you had never heard before. Pushing yourself off your bed, you leaned out the window to look at the street below.

It was still the same street, save for a police box that was placed further down. Weren’t those things really old? Did anyone still use those?

There was another noise from downstairs. Something metal, clattering to the ground, perhaps a pan or a tray. And then – panicked muttering. It sounded like it was from a young man, with a British accent… What was going on down there?

You tried to make sure that your brain didn’t go to the worst possible situation – that you were being robbed. Throwing on a jacket that you had draped over a chair and turning on the flashlight on your phone with trembling hands, you opened the creaky door out of your bedroom and headed down the stairs into the café’s kitchen. Why would anyone rob you? You didn’t earn much, just enough to pay utility bills and buy groceries; you didn’t even have any jewelry! And if you had anything of value it was probably just stuff that _looked_ expensive, like a large apple sculpture that was just plastic.

The rooms downstairs, unlike the upstairs apartments, didn’t have big windows, just windows that were enough to keep the place cool and ventilated when it got a bit too hot inside. This had the unintended side effect of making the place _dark as hell_ when it was nighttime.

The light from your phone’s flashlight was the only thing that pierced through the darkness, your phone’s case suddenly feeling very slippery as your hands started to sweat. _It’s not a robber,_ you thought, trying to calm the panic that was rising up your throat. _It’s probably just a rat, or something._ But that didn’t explain the young man’s voice, unless rats could talk now. Which was stupid, since rats couldn’t talk…

You let your rambling thoughts keep you company as your bare feet stepped against wooden floorboards. At least it wasn’t frighteningly quiet anymore – you heard the sound of something being pushed against a counter, and then more muttering. After that was the sound of someone rummaging through utensils, the clink clank of metal against metal echoing against the quiet halls of the building.

The kitchen door was closed, but light spilled out of the gap between the door and the floor.

Turning off the flashlight on your phone, you turned the device over in your hands. Would it hurt someone if you hit them over the head with it? What were you even going to say? _Who are you? What are you doing here? Don’t move?_ You weren’t intimidating. You were dressed in loose clothes and a jacket. The worst you could do was cry for help, which would only work if anyone was still awake at this hour.

Now that you were closer you could hear shuffling, and you could hear the voice that you had heard before a little clearer – saying something about sugar.

You took in a deep breath, releasing it through your nose. Holding your phone above your head like a makeshift weapon, you reached for the handle of the kitchen door, letting your fingers curl around the old metal.

_Okay. Three… two… one -!_

You flung the door open – but the sight before you was enough to shock the words out of you.

You were right about the clattering noise. There was indeed a tray that had fallen on the kitchen’s tiled floor, one of the muffin trays. The rest of the room was in disarray. Most of the cupboards had been opened and ransacked, bags of flour had been laid out on the floor and someone had broken into your sugar supply, the various jars of all the different sugars laid out on a counter. And in the middle of all that, behind the counter opening one of the sugar jars, was a young man in a tweed jacket with floppy hair and a bowtie.

You stood frozen in the doorway, phone still held aloft like you were going to bring it down over his head – the young man had frozen in his tracks, his finger held in the air as he was about to stick it in a jar of confectionary sugar.

Suddenly, the young man jumped back, slamming the lid back onto the jar. “Miss Baker! I thought you were closed!” he cried, backing up against the counter behind him.

So - he was the source of the muttering and talking. You still couldn’t wrap your head around how and _why_ he was in your kitchen at an ungodly hour raiding your sugar. _And_ why he called you “Miss Baker”.

“How did you get in?” was the only thing that came out of your mouth. “Did you break in?”

“I _expertly maneuvered_ my way in,” the young man said proudly. His smile fell slightly after you raised an eyebrow at him – “I broke in.”

“I should be calling the police right now,” you muttered, and the young man nodded.

“You _should_ be calling the police. Upstanding citizen, you are – but don’t, please.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I thought you were closed, and that I could pop in for a little visit without you getting mad, but I forgot that you tend to be awake at this hour.”

He _forgot_ that you were usually awake late at night? You didn’t even know this man. “Why the sugar?” you asked, using your free hand to gesture at the jars of sugar while keeping your other hand on your phone in case he tried anything. Which he probably wouldn’t, to be honest, as he was quite tall and lanky and didn’t look built for combat.

The young man looked at the sugar, then back to you, clapping his hands together. “I needed some for some defense against some Yamar natives – they don’t have much sugar on their planet, so their bodies aren’t built for handling it. Like snails to salt, or so I’m told. I was testing these to see which ones would be the sweetest – you’ve told me this before, Miss Baker, but bakers on other planets right now would be very jealous of you, perfect defense against the Yamars.”

You couldn’t even form a good coherent thought. _Yamars? Other planets? Was he talking about aliens?_ _“You’ve told me this before”? Was this man crazy?_

“I’m not –” You shook your head. “I’m not Miss Baker, you must have the wrong person.”

“No, no I’m sure I’ve got the right time,” the young man said, taking a look at his watch.

“Hang on – who are you?” you asked.

The man froze, his eyebrows raised in surprise before his face fell, disappointed.

“Oh no,” he said simply, sticking his hands in his pockets and suddenly looking very sheepish. “I’ve come a little too early, haven’t I? Tell me, do you know who I am?”

“Am I supposed to?” you countered back, and the man chuckled, looking down at the floor.

“Yes, but also no. Not yet,” the man replied. He took the jar of confectionary sugar and screwed the lid on tight, then bundled it into his arms like you would a small child. “It’s complicated.”

It was definitely complicated. The young man stepped over the fallen muffin tray, grimacing at the room. He squeezed past you, still standing in the doorway, his shoes making small sounds against the floor. “I’m sorry about the mess– I really must be off, thank you for the sugar– “

“W-wait!” you cried, turning to face him, “You need to come back and explain– “

But the young man was already gone.

You shook your head, lowering your phone, suddenly very tired after all that. It had been a long night, and it _was_ very late.

 _Maybe this is just all some strange dream_ , you thought as you switched off the lights in the kitchen. Shutting the door quietly, your thoughts still racing at a mile a minute, you pulled your jacket tighter against yourself as you began the journey back upstairs to your bed, where you could forget all about the weird events of the night. _I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and the kitchen will be clean. There was never a strange man there looking for sugar._

_Nothing happened._

* * *

Something had happened.

You didn’t know why you woke up early the next day, before anyone else had arrived, to check the kitchen. Part of you wanted to be ignorant, to have one of your employees tell you that the kitchen was a mess and then tell you that it was probably rats because it should be rats – but there was another part of you that was curious, didn’t care if it killed you, and was okay with satisfaction _not_ bringing you back.

The kitchen was still a mess. The bags of flour were still left on the floor, the jars of sugar were still arranged on the counter, cupboards and cabinets were still ajar, and the fallen muffin tray was still lying sadly on the floor.

You sighed, picking your way through the mess to pick up the tray – turning it over in your hands, it wasn’t damaged. That was good. God knows what the previous owner would do if you dented some of her equipment.

So last night hadn’t been a dream. The whole thing with the strange man asking for sugar had been unfortunately real, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your brain.

You were planning to call the police – but again, what would you tell them? _A strange man broke into my establishment and took a jar of sugar. No, he didn’t harm me, he just confused me immensely. No, I can’t tell you where he went, because he disappeared. Go after him? Why would I do that?_ Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the door to the kitchen swinging open.

“This place is a mess.”

You turned around, muffin tray still in your hands, to see a young lady in an apron wringing her hands together – “Erica!”

“That’s my name,” Erica said, smoothing over the front of the Heaven Café’s uniform apron – hand-sewn by the previous owner for all her old employees. They were pink, frilly things. They were like hand-me-downs, and like most of the things in the building, were to be treated with the utmost care. “What did you do, boss? It looks crazy in here.”

“Long story,” you sighed, trying to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Erica simply hummed and made her way to the center of the room, hoisting up one of the bags of flour. Erica was a fairly new hire, but she was nice and attentive and kept the atmosphere cheery even during the rush hour. “It was a weird night.”

“I’ve had a few weird nights,” Erica said, pushing a bag of flour into a cabinet and slamming the door. Her hand hovered over the counter, then sugar jars, her palm just inches away from the sweet powder. “Ugh, what’s with all the sugar? One, two… five… one of the jars is missing.”

“That’s part of the weird night.” You opened the cabinet with all the trays and placed the muffin tray at the very top, balancing precariously on top of a mixing bowl. “Why are you interested in the sugar jars?”

“For you, boss. I don’t touch the stuff.”

You shook your head. “Well, some guy just came in and took one of the sugar jars, talking about aliens. I thought I was dreaming.”

Erica was quiet for a moment, before she asked, “What did he look like?”

“It was late, but uh…” You pressed your thumb against your temple, trying to dig the young man’s description out of your still very confused brain. “He was a tall guy? He had a British accent, he was wearing a tweed jacket with a bowtie, I mean who dresses like that these days?”

“…A tweed jacket?” Erica glanced towards the door of the kitchen.

“Exactly! It’s 2020, I don’t know why someone would be –“

“Boss.” Erica tapped your shoulder. She drew her mouth into a thin line, closing her hand into a fist and bringing it to her chest. “Your mystery guy might be here.”

“ _What_?” You whipped around, slamming the doors to the tray cabinet shut – the metal things clattered against each other loudly and you winced. Erica shrugged, her face reflecting your confusion.

“I mean, you said no one dresses like him anymore, right? He’s sitting by the window, just reading the menu.” Erica turned to look at the door again. “I tried to approach him and he said he was looking for Miss Baker.”

“For the last time, I’m not Miss Baker.”

“You technically are.” Erica shrugged. “Do you know him?”

“Why would I know him? He broke into the building last night!” you said, raising your hands up in the air. Erica raised her eyebrows at you. “What? I’m not going to go talk to him.”

“He’s a customer. And he _is_ your mystery man.” Erica was already making her way to the front of the café. She stopped, resting her hand on the doorway and grinning widely. “And he’s pretty cute, not gonna lie.”

You felt your face grow warm. “He’s _not_ my ‘mystery man’, I don’t know what you’re – Erica! _Erica!_ Get back here!”

You only heard Erica’s laugh echo down the hall. You sighed for maybe the fiftieth time that day, running your hand over your face – the day could not get any weirder.

You were about to be proven wrong.

Erica was right. Your “mystery man” (God, why were you calling him that it sounded so ridiculous) was indeed sitting by the window – his face was covered by the menu, the only thing you could clearly see being his long hair that flopped against his forehead. To someone else, he would have looked like he was reading, but there were a lot of customers like him. People that came in just to hide. And he was hiding.

_From me? Why would he be hiding from me? If anything, I should be hiding from him, the weirdo…_

The young man peeked over the menu, his eyes darting across the room before they finally landed on you. The corners of his eyes crinkled and even though the rest of his face was covered, you could tell he was smiling – what kind of man breaks into your home, steals sugar, disappears, and then smiles at you like nothing happened the next day?

The sight of a young man dressed in a tweed jacket and a bowtie sitting in a cute café was a lot to take in. Grabbing a spare notepad and tucking a pen behind your ear, you made your way towards the young man, plastering a smile onto your face – “Hi, welcome to Heaven Café, what can I get you?”

The young man set the menu down, and your breath caught in your throat. Erica was right again – at this point, you probably owed the girl money – your “mystery man” was actually quite cute. The young man lifted his wrist to glance at his watch before smiling nervously and setting the menu flat on the table.

“I’ve come to apologize,” he said.

You customer-service smile dropped. “For last night.”

“Yes,” he replied, “although somewhat preemptively. It hasn’t happened yet. Or it will. I _am_ sorry, though.”

“What do you mean, ‘it hasn’t happened yet?’” you spluttered, the pitch of your voice raising higher and higher and suddenly you were very glad there was no one else there in the café. “It did happen! You were there!”

“I _was_ there!” the young man said cheerfully. “I will be there, and I know you’ll be very upset about it.”

“I _am_ upset about it!”

The young man’s smile vanished. “Oh, you really are.”

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t hit you this notepad right now,” you hissed, your chest getting tighter and tighter, your anger and confusion mixing into one messy cocktail.

“I’m a customer, Miss Baker! You can’t harm me.” The young man leaned back in his chair. “Or maybe you can – humans, always so violent.”

 _Humans?_ “For the last time, I’m not ‘Miss Baker’.”

“Then I suppose this is when you tell me your real name.” The young man grinned, something mischievous hidden in his green eyes. “The question is, Miss Baker, who are _you_?”

“I asked you first.” You glanced at the clock above him – it was still early, but it was almost time for the morning rush, when all the stressed-out office workers and late university students poured in for their daily dose of coffee. You couldn’t sit here and talk to this man – no matter how many questions you had, you had a job to do. “You know what? Let me get you something, and then you can explain.”

“Right, then, I’ll have tea. A classic. Very lucrative Earth export, in about a few thousand years,” the young man said brightly. Then he frowned. “No, wine. That’ll make me look sophisticated – no, wine’s rubbish.”

Before you could interrupt that the café didn’t even _serve_ wine, the young man suddenly looked up at you, sporting a youthful smile. “What about a banana milkshake?”

* * *

The young man’s name, you quickly learned, was _the Doctor_. This didn’t answer any of your questions, because after taking a few sips from his banana milkshake he had run out the door, nearly knocking over one of your employees, Emil, who was clocking in late.

“I’ll explain tomorrow!” he had yelled when you chased after him.

“You’d better!” you’d yelled back. You thought you heard him laugh before he disappeared behind a corner.

The Doctor didn’t come by the next day. Or the day after that.

You would never admit that the Doctor had been the only thing on your mind for an entire week. The young man had an air of mystery about him, like he knew more than he was telling you. He had the face of a child but the air of someone much older – and you had gleaned all of this just from a seven-minute conversation and a strange encounter in your kitchen. For a mystery, he was surprisingly easy to read. 

But aside from that, the week was pretty normal. It was the same old writing names on paper cups and getting flour all over your good pants. After a few days, you’d written off meeting the Doctor as a fluke, a once-in-a-lifetime meeting with someone who was just incredibly unique.

Yes, it might have been a fluke, but there was a niggling sense of _missing out on something_ – like there was a whole universe that you had just brushed against, and whole new world to explore, and you’d missed it. _One thing about working in a place that’s full of life,_ you thought, staring out the large window in the front, where the Doctor had sat, _is that you’re always just hearing about it but never living it._

“Miss Baker?”

You turned around, letting a sigh escape your pursed lips. The sound almost became a whistle. “Emil, I told you not to call me that.”

Emil – a tall, sweet man with a very big smile – actually smiled one of his famous smiles, but a bit sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his neck, no doubt getting flour in his hair. “Sorry, it’s a habit. You know I got hired before you did.”

“That means you’re _old_ , Emil,” you said. “What’s up?”

“Erica’s gone again,” Emil replied, “that kid. What does she do when we’re not looking?”

You shrugged, turning back around to face the window, watching the setting sun. Erica had a reputation for being young and a bit of a hotshot among everyone working at the Heaven Café. You didn’t think too much of it. “I don’t know. She _is_ just a kid.”

“So are you.” Emil stood next to you. “But I trusted Miss Baker when she turned the place over to you. She was a good boss.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “And I’m not?”

Emil laughed, rubbing a flour-stained hand over your head, like an annoying big brother. Thank god it was closing time. “I don’t have anything against you, boss.”

The front door swung open. You and Emil turned around to see that a tall, thin man had just walked in, his hands in the pockets of a well-fitted blue suit. The man looked, for lack of a better term, _sharp –_ not “sharp” as in “smartly-dressed”, but he had _edges_.

“Excuse me, sir,” you called out. The man turned around, one sharp eyebrow raised. He looked like you would get a paper cut if you touched him. “It’s late. We’re closing.”

The statement came more like a question, and the man raised his eyebrow higher, if it was even possible. “Sorry. Bit rude of me. I’m looking for something.”

Oh. British. What was up the shop and attracting strange but attractive British men?

“Sorry, sir, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Emil said. The man hummed in response, a pensive expression on his face.

“Wrong choice of words. I’m _tracking_ something,” the man said, pulling a screwdriver from the inside of his suit jacket. Suddenly, the screwdriver began to hum and glow blue, and upon closer inspection was not a screwdriver at all. He swept the not-screwdriver over the room. “Have you two seen anything strange recently?”

 _Stranger than you?_ “No, sir,” Emil replied, his voice tight.

“I’ve just said it, I’m tracking something!” the man said. The not-screwdriver stopped humming and glowing and the man looked into the end of it, squinting. “Ooh, that’s weird. Weird readings. Are you sure you haven’t seen anything?”

“Sorry, what are you doing here?” Emil asked, stepping in front of you. The man frowned at him.

“I’ve been following strange patterns through time, and they’ve led me here.” The man said, raising his head to meet your eyes. His eyes were brown and deep and strangely familiar. “I’m supposed to meet you. Who are you?”

Before you could even say _“I could ask you the same thing”_ , there was a loud crashing sound. And then a high-pitched scream. Emil turned to face you, his eyes wide.

“It sounded like it came from the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Emil, I’ll go,” you said, furrowing your brows. “You stay here.”

Emil laughed, placing a hand on your shoulder. It left a flour handprint on your shirt. “Are you worried about me? You’re still young. I’ll go check it out.”

Another crash rang out – it sounded like something glass crashing to the floor and shattering – and then another sound of pain, but more guttural. It didn’t even sound _human_. Your stomach twisted with dread, and you glanced at the mysterious man, who nodded at Emil.

“I’ll come with you,” the man said, and Emil shook his head, already walking away.

“Stay here, sir,” Emil called out, then made his way to the kitchen. The man shook his head, chuckling.

“Sorry. I don’t have the best track record for following instructions,” he began. He paused, casting his gaze onto you – which was surprisingly intense from a man that was just so thin. Once again, a sense of familiarity struck you – you _knew_ this man, but how? “Right, you. Who are you?”

“You first,” you countered. The man grinned.

“I’m the Doctor,” he said, and your mouth fell open.

No, he wasn’t the Doctor. The Doctor was that cute floppy-haired young man in tweed you’d met a week ago. The man in front of you wasn’t the Doctor – he _couldn’t_ be the Doctor, because – “I’ve met the Doctor,” you said, a little unsure, “and he doesn’t look like you.”

“That happens a lot,” he said absently, “I think I’ve got one of those faces.”

Distantly, you heard a yell, and another metallic clatter. Your whole body jerked in surprise – _it sounded like Emil._

Before you could protest, the Doctor grabbed your hand and dragged you to the kitchen.

You tried to tear yourself away from the Doctor’s grip as he stopped just steps away from the kitchen door. The Doctor still held on tightly to your arm. The clattering and yelling continued, and now you were definitely sure it was Emil. “What are you doing? We have to go help him!”

The Doctor raised a finger to his lips, his eyes wide. “Shh! Listen.”

Among Emil’s grunts of pain and the loud sound of metal and glass crashing to the floor, there was another sound – one that was more animalistic, like the growl of a hungry beast. But it sounded strange, like there was another voice layered beneath it.

“ _Hungry…_ ”

“Stay behind me,” the Doctor said lowly, and you nodded. Raising his not-screwdriver, he took slow, careful steps towards the open door. His free arm was outstretched over you.

When you finally reached the open door, you fought back a scream – surrounded by broken glass and fallen trays was Emil, his face twisted in pain as he pushed against a slimy, pulsing tentacle. Your gaze followed the writhing flesh to its owner, some kind of wriggling mass that reminded you too much of a tongue to feel comfortable with it. The wriggling mass growled, keeping Emil pinned to the floor. He whipped his head to the side and met your eyes, his whole body trembling.

“Help!” Emil cried. You sprung forward to Emil’s side and tried to grab at the tentacle’s skin – if you could even call it skin. You felt a shudder run down your spine as your own hands became covered in the slimy substance that coated it – _what the hell is going on?!_

From the corner of your eye, you saw the Doctor, waving his not-screwdriver at the mass of flesh. “What’s kept you hidden for so long? Perception filter? Must be a good one if it’s hidden something like you.”

You pushed against the tentacle keeping Emil pinned tightly to the floor, but it didn’t budge. “I can’t move it! Doctor, HELP!”

“What are you?” the Doctor asked, squinting at the end of his not-screwdriver.

“ _Ya…mar…_ ” the mass growled lowly, and you paused. _Now why did that sound…_

_“I needed some for some defense against some Yamar natives –“_

The Doctor joined you beside Emil, pointing his not-screwdriver at the tentacle. It didn’t do anything. “And what do you want?” the Doctor asked again, pressing his elbow into the tentacle and ruining his nice suit.

The mass made a low noise before speaking. “ _Hungry…_ _Boss…_ ”

You froze, your mouth falling open. _Boss?_

Whipping your head around to face the wriggling, slimy, mound of flesh, something caught your eye. Hanging off of it was a pink, frilly apron, now ruined and torn and slimy, hand-sewn for all of the employees at the Heaven Café… hand-me-downs…

“ _Erica_?” you breathed out, and the mass moved, as if responding to the name.

“ _That’s_ Erica?!” Emil asked loudly.

“Boss…” it said, a young woman’s voice coming through underneath the growling, alien one. “Hungry…”

“You know her?” the Doctor asked. You shook your head dumbly.

“Employee,” was all you managed to say. “She’s an employee.”

“Whoah!” Emil gasped – he started squirming underneath the massive tentacle, as if trying to get away. A strange burning smell filled the room, and Emil started squirming harder. “What the – my clothes!”

The Doctor stared at his hands, then at his elbow – the spot that had been covered with the slime was being eaten away, revealing bare skin. “The slime’s corrosive! Wipe your hands on something!”

You quickly rubbed your palms on your own Heaven Café apron, watching as the slime you’d just wiped away ate through some of the cloth, leaving only an empty patch behind. Despite all the madness, you managed to sigh – the _real_ Miss Baker was going to come for your head now for destroying her aprons. _And_ for hiring a weird fleshy monster.

“What the fuck is up with weird things and ruining my kitchen?” you muttered.

“Oi, that’s quite rude,” you heard the Doctor say.

You looked up at the Doctor, who had his not-screwdriver out again. “Why hasn’t it eaten through our skin?”

“I don’t think it can. Unless – “

The Doctor was cut off by Emil screaming – the smell of something burning suddenly became the smell of burnt hair, and you assumed that if you didn’t work fast enough it would become the smell of burning flesh.

“What do we do?”

“It says it’s a Yamar, I’ve never met a Yamar!” the Doctor said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Nine-hundred years of time and space and I’ve never met a Yamar.”

“You haven’t? But you told me –“

The Doctor pocketed his not-screwdriver and pressed against the tentacle again, groaning in frustration. “I probably haven’t told you yet! Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey, and all that – I don’t think I’ve met them _yet_!”

You blinked. The other Doctor had talked about time, and knowing the future – if he didn’t know _now_ maybe the reason why he knew _then_ was because…

_“…they don’t have much sugar on their planet, so their bodies aren’t built for handling it.”_

“Like snails to salt…” you murmured. You stood up quickly, scrambling to get to a cabinet – “Sugar!”

“What?” Emil and the Doctor said in unison.

“I know what we need!” You flung open a cupboard to find your jars of different sugars, with one still missing. You took all the jars of sugar you could carry and bundled them into your arms. You opened one of the jars, taking in a fistful of sugar. “I’m the envy of bakers across the universe - Yamars don’t like sugar, so we should be able to-”

You threw the handful of sugar onto the tentacle holding Emil down and watched as it burned through its slimy coating. The mass made a shrieking noise, and retracted the tentacle, pulling it back into it’s large body.

“I’m alive,” Emil gasped, placing his hands on his chest, “I’m alive!”

“Right you are,” the Doctor said, helping Emil to his feet.

“ _No,_ ” the mass gurgled, “ _Boss. Hungry_.”

You stared up at the strange thing – you had to be dreaming. There was no way that this monster could be one of your employees. There was no way that there could even be a monster at all in your café. You had met Erica and she wasn’t like that. But there it was, standing and wriggling in the middle of your kitchen, and it had nearly eaten another one of your employees.

“Sorry, Erica,” you muttered, opening another jar of sugar, the largest one you had, “it’s been a weird night.”

You threw the jar at the wriggling mass; the sugar flew out and struck it, and the creature screamed, a terrible gurgling sound, as the sugar burned through its skin until there was nothing left but a steaming pile of slime on the nice tiled floors of your kitchen. You stared at the pile of slime, taking huge, heaving breaths like you’d just run a marathon.

_A weird night. Definitely understatement of the year._

A big smile spread across your face – and despite all of the weird things that had just happened, and despite the fact that you were covered in cloth-and-flesh-eating slime, you laughed.

The Doctor ran up to you, clapping on the shoulders. “Brilliant, how did you know how to do that?”

You blinked. “You told me.”

The Doctor simply grinned. “I think it’s the other way around, Miss…”

A thought flashed through your head – it was impossible, but so many impossible things had just happened. And the Doctor was already such an impossible man - _Screw it, right?_

“Baker. Call me Miss Baker,” you finally said, grinning back at him. “Uh, do you want a banana milkshake?”

* * *

It took another week for you to convince yourself that what you were feeling wasn’t a severe case of FOMO.

The spiky-haired Doctor didn’t leave for a long time. He stayed with you until it was quite late and even after you’d sent Emil home to rest, helping you clean the glass and the slime and giving you tips on how to clean slime from surfaces. Eventually, just like the other Doctor, he left too, but he didn’t make any promises.

It still didn’t mean it wasn’t disappointing when he didn’t come back the next day.

You spent a lot of nights in bed thinking about that night. It still didn’t seem _real_ at all. All the things that had happened made the café seem like a much more magical place – it was still your home, and there were still stories to be collected and told, but now there were things that were impossible written on the walls. You couldn’t help but smile everytime you walked into the kitchen – how were you going to tell new employees that the place had been covered in slime once?

The answer was that you didn’t. As much as you wanted to tell everyone you met, probably no one would believe you – no one but Emil, who didn’t show up the next day and simply left an apologetic, but somewhat incoherent, text message.

That left you to manage most of the café. It was a slow day, with only a few people coming in and out and ordering simple orders.

That left you to do one thing you were good at – thinking. You were good at thinking. And you thought a lot about that night, and how it could have gone differently. You could have asked the Doctor to stay, or you could have asked where he was going, or you could have asked if you could go with him. A chance at a _real_ adventure had slipped by you again.

 _No,_ you thought, screwing your eyes shut. You were home. You were supposed to be content.

“Excuse me?”

You looked up. Standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, was a very pretty young lady – her brown hair fell over her shoulders, her big eyes shining under the lights of the café. She smiled brightly at you, and waved.

“Yes, hello,” you said after a while. “Sorry. Welcome to the Heaven Café, what can I get you?”

“Oh -” The young woman looked up for a moment, thinking, and then she looked behind her. Standing not too far away from her was an older man, with a head of curly, white hair, his hands in the pockets of his coat. _Was that a hoodie under his coat?_ The man nodded at her, and the young woman turned back to you. “A coffee and a banana milkshake, please.”

“Dine in or take out?” you asked, and the woman grinned.

“Take out,” she said, “sorry. We’re a bit busy.”

“That’s no problem. Just give me a minute, miss…”

“Clara,” she supplied, leaning over the counter. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

You turned away from her to prepare the coffee, grabbing a small paper cup and walking carefully to the machine. “Thanks! What’s brought you here?”

“Recommendation from a friend,” Clara said. You could still hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve heard good things about the place.”

“Like?”

“Good sugar,” she said, and you nearly dropped the cup.

You set the coffee in front of her with shaking hands and promptly made your way to the blender, the cogs of your brain not working. You dared a glance at the man Clara had come with. The two of them were talking now, their voices drowned out by the roar of the blender. Then the man had to be…

You gave Clara the banana milkshake in the paper cup and she muttered a quick “thanks” before handing it to the man behind her.

You stared at the man. He was older now, definitely different, but there was the same familiarity in his eyes. The corners of the man’s mouth lifted in a small smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thank you, again,” Clara said hurriedly, placing a few bills on the counter, “We’ve got to go. Keep the change.”

“No problem, come back soon,” you murmured, still looking at the man. Clara nodded at him and he seemed to collect himself, raising a hand in farewell before rushing out of the door with Clara, disappearing into the street outside.

 _Yeah,_ you thought, still staring at the spot where the two of them had been. It was definitely FOMO.

Before you could get lost in your thoughts again, the sound of the door opening kept you from falling into a pit of overthinking. You wiped your hands over your new apron, ran a hand through your hair, and plastered on your best customer service smile.

“Welcome to the Heaven Café, what can I get you?” you said.

A blonde woman had walked in, dressed in a flowing lilac coat and suspenders, her smile wide and bright and awfully familiar. “I’ll have a banana milkshake,” she said, and you frowned.

 _What was up with people and ordering banana milkshakes today?_ You looked down, quickly noting the order. “Okay, ma’am. What’s your name?”

“ _Ma’am_. I can never get used to that.” The woman smiled, adjusting a bundle of cloth in her arms. “The Doctor.”

Your head whipped up, meeting the woman’s eyes, and for all you knew the café could have disappeared – all you could see was her smiling at you, the same mischievous glint hidden behind new eyes. “Sorry I’m late, Miss Baker.”

“You already know my name,” you said. The Doctor shifted, removing the cloth from the bundle in her arms, and you gasped – it was your sugar jar, the one she had taken and promised to return, still in pristine condition with hardly any sugar removed. “And my sugar!”

The Doctor set the jar on the counter, resting her hand on it. “It’s served me well! Thank you.”

“You’re two weeks late,” you muttered, still frozen in place.

“No, I’m a few hundred years late,” the Doctor said, sticking her hands in her coat pockets. “I am sorry for that. I do lose track of time sometimes. But I did visit! You said to ‘come back soon’.”

“You were the old man.”

“Yep.”

“And the sharp man.”

“Yep, although I don’t know why you call me that.”

“ _And_ the bowtie man.”

“I don’t regret the bowtie.” The Doctor pulled at her suspenders, still smiling widely. “Speaking of time…”

The Doctor stepped to the side, gesturing out the big window – there was an old blue police box parked there, standing underneath the shade of a big tree. It was the same box you’d seen, all those nights ago - “You’ve let me into your home so many times, I suppose it’s time I show you mine.”

“That box? You’re kidding.”

The Doctor shrugged, then tilted her head towards the box. “Do you want to see where I’ve been?”

And all those times you’d stayed behind, all the nights of thinking like you had missed out on something grand, something greater than you – all came flooding back. As the Doctor looked at you with wide, expectant eyes, you thought of adventure and finally living the lives you kept hearing about – and you nodded. You weren’t going to miss this chance.

The Doctor beamed, and took your hand. You clambered over the counter, ignoring all the stares from the customers – “Now?”

“When’s a better time than now?” she called back, dragging you out of the café and into another world.

And all this over a jar of sugar.


End file.
